


Sacrifice

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Chastity, Cock & Ball Torture, Edging, Flogging, Javert Lives, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-09 05:04:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Perhaps, when he had first stumbled into this, it should have alarmed him how readily Javert in turn had played the part that had always been his. But in truth, it was a relief: there was in Javert still some of that lethal sharpness of the blade, and to have Javert’s hand govern his willing body was distressing enough to not render Valjean’s sacrifice meaningless.





	Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellamason](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellamason/gifts).



Valjean was holding perfectly still. He had woken up aching and hot, Javert inside him. Now that Javert’s hips kept thrusting against his, Javert’s breath coming in loud gasps against his neck, Valjean was waiting, his fingers clenching around the sheets, and Javert’s fingers in turn clenched around his.

It did not take long. He had woken to Javert already hard and inside him—and he had woken to his own body tentatively roused, the interest between his own legs stirring further the more Javert kept pressing inside him, until he felt heavy with heat.

Now his disobedient flesh ached. To take his thoughts off it, he turned his eyes to where Javert’s larger hand covered his own. There were dark hairs on the back of Javert’s hands and deep furrows around his knuckles. He watched that hand cover his own, fingers tightening just as Javert’s muscles tightened, and then relaxing as Javert panted his tired satisfaction against his neck, only the wet heat within Valjean giving away what had come to pass.

Javert was the first to rise. After he had finished washing himself, Valjean followed. He flushed a little at the way Javert’s issue was dripping down his thighs, although he was filled with a deeper satisfaction at the way his body had softened again, the sharp sting of denial made sweeter by the way Javert’s eyes came to rest on his softened shaft for a heartbeat of admiration.

Then Valjean washed away Javert’s still warm seed with soap and a soft cloth, and when he was dressed at last, there was no trace left of the heat that had filled him earlier—just the blissful satisfaction that came after having won another impossible battle against himself.

***

Javert’s hand rested between his legs. Valjean held still, his hair damp with sweat. He could not say how long it had gone on. Every now and then, Javert’s fingers would twist inside him.

Javert’s fingers were broad and rough; Valjean could imagine every hair, every small line in perfect detail, for he had admired them often enough in the time that had passed since the events that had forced their paths to converge one final, fateful time.

Right now, Javert’s fingers were deep inside him, holding him open and full, massaging with enough pressure that Valjean’s lips were sore and swollen from how often he had needed to bite them to hold back the sounds that wanted to escape.

“Again,” Javert said. There was no cruelty in his voice; instead, there was a tinge of gentleness in it. “Come, Valjean. We both know that you have enough control for ten men.”

Valjean inhaled silently, sweat dripping from his brow when Javert’s fingers slid in and out, pressing right against where it made Valjean ache the most.

At those moments, it seemed impossible to endure, the pleasure racing up his spine and making his body tighten as strong as a ferocious beast. Even now this beast held his throat between its jaws, and he shuddered, mortified, as his body hardened against Javert’s large palm once more with none of Valjean’s natural shyness.

“How bold it is,” Javert said with a low laugh. “Is it truly stronger than you?”

“Javert, please… No more,” Valjean begged, his body trembling ecstatically in Javert’s firm grasp.

Again Javert laughed. “Have we truly reached the end of what you can bear?” he mused. “No, I don’t think so. You want to take the easier way. That is the nature of men like you and me. But do you think I’ll let you walk that path when I know you can be better than that?”

Valjean’s entire body was pulsing around Javert’s digits within him. Javert had ceased moving, the pressure within no longer quite as overwhelming. As he trembled beneath Javert’s hands, Valjean forced himself to look up at the wall with tearstained eyes, shame clenching heavily around his heart as the crucifix looked down from above with relentless severity.

Little by little, he managed to bring his body back under control. Need still gnawed at him, but at last, with Javert’s palm still covering him, his shaft softened again. Instead of the raw need that had threatened to consume him, a deeper, sharper glow warmed his heart: the satisfaction of denial, that hard-fought ideal which had tasted so sweetly in the convent, and which only now, at Javert’s hands, was truly put to the test.

“Again,” Javert said, as merciless as an angel of judgement.

Valjean closed his eyes as Javert’s fingers pushed deep into him, the sting of bodily need burning so bright that for a moment, he could see nothing but that consuming fire, his body instinctively rocking back into the merciless penetration—

And then he cried out, shuddering in rapturous pain when he was saved at the last moment by Javert’s fingers pinching the sensitive crown of his swollen shaft quickly and brutally.

“No,” Javert said, his voice hoarse. “You’re better than that.”

Tears were running down Valjean’s face at the pain, but he forced himself to keep from moving, to bear even this torment.

He trembled for long moments in the throes of heady agony until at last, the need burning within him was overcome. The punishment of Javert’s strong fingers was kind in its own way, a harshness he craved more than gentle words. Even now, his body stung with the cruelty of Javert’s merciless grip on him—but it was a sweet sting, even as he wept with relief at this hard-won victory over himself, and all the more satisfying than the shallow release of relief would have been.

When Javert pulled back at last, Valjean’s limbs felt weak, but his body was obedient to his will once more: his shaft soft and shy, curled against his thigh like a chastised animal, and a deeper, euphoric triumph resting warm inside Valjean’s chest.

“Truly, you suffer like a saint,” Javert murmured into his ear, one hand brushing the sweat-damp locks away from his forehead.

Valjean gladly leaned into his touch, and Javert indulged him, cool fingers combing through his hair and stroking the damp strands away from his eyes.

“But we both know you are no saint,” Javert continued, his voice intimately soft. “That is why you must suffer.”

Valjean caught hold of his hand and pressed it to his lips, his mouth caressing Javert’s knuckles.

“And why you will keep suffering, until your body has learned this lesson.” Javert laughed, low and amused, as Valjean trembled in fearful ecstasy at the scenario those words conjured.

“And now you may sleep.”

His body still burned, but it was only the heat of a distant fire. As Valjean carefully breathed in and out, it became easier to ignore the thrum of it in his blood. Javert was already asleep, an arm slung around his waist, and as Valjean listened to the beating of his heart, the ache of his body seemed less and less important, the sweet denial of this hunger succoring him instead.

***

“If you succumb, I will beat you,” Javert said.

There was no cruelty in his voice; even so, the statement made Valjean shudder with a sudden, terrified desire at the image that sprung up in his mind’s eye.

Between his legs, his balls were full and aching, his shaft swollen to such hardness that it seemed like the merest touch would be enough to make him shame himself.

“You can do better than this.” Javert’s words were firm and allowed no argument, even though he currently had his hand lightly wrapped around Valjean’s aching cock.

“Please,” Valjean groaned, arching into Javert’s touch despite himself. He felt as if a fever had taken hold of him, his entire body aflame. His cock was swollen and red with blood, slick with the fluid that kept dripping from the slit, and as much as he writhed in Javert’s grip, trying to force back the fire that was devouring him, he could no more subdue his treacherous body than a man could halt the tide.

“Javert, please.”

If Javert would just stop touching, then certainly he could get himself back under control. If Javert would just punish as he had yesterday, pinch where it hurt the most with the cruelty Valjean deserved…

But this was how Javert had woken him today, Valjean’s body already lewdly aroused, the unchaste desires making him push into Javert’s grip before he was fully awake and realized just what he was doing.

“Can’t you bear this? Does it take so little to make you forget yourself?” Javert ran a single fingertip around the sensitive, slick glans. Valjean trembled as another string of fluid well up.

“You can do better. But if you won’t control yourself, you will bear the consequences. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

Valjean gasped for breath, his chest too tight to draw in air as Javert’s finger relentlessly slid down his shaft. Desperately, he grasped at the sheets, closing his eyes as he strained against the pull of Javert’s fingers just as once, long ago, he had strained against a caryatid of heavy stone.

For one long moment, he hung in that precarious balance, overstretched to the point his muscles were close to giving up, his shaft so sensitive that it felt as if the smallest stimulation would cut the fragile thread that held him aloft, that another moment of such torture would be too much, that his body would faint from what was demanded of it—and then Javert’s hand slid back up.

Javert’s touch was warm and firm. It made him sob out loud even before the pad of Javert’s thumb rubbed lovingly against the underside of the crown, the pleasure as fierce as the bite of the lash.

Every single muscle in Valjean’s body tightened as he helplessly spilled himself, spurt after spurt of his spend released in wet splashes across his chest while Javert held him in his hand, unmoving, calmly judging.

And when it was done at last, when Valjean’s heart had stopped thundering so loudly that he became aware of his surroundings again, he realized that tears were still running down his face—and that Javert was still watching him.

“There,” Javert murmured as he released his softening cock. “Not a saint; only human. Only human like the rest of us.”

Valjean drew in a trembling breath, the light of the morning sun suddenly too bright, the softness of the pillow beneath him too overwhelming.

Slowly, Javert smiled. “I told you I would beat you if you could not control yourself.”

Javert tilted his head towards the wall. There was a softness in his eyes Valjean recognized—but also a fevered sharpness that was just as familiar and which, though once fearful, now in turn seemed reassuring to his thrumming, overwhelmed senses.

Valjean stumbled as he stood. Javert did not help him. Once he had faced the wall, holding himself upright with one hand, Javert slid a hand down his back.

“Still so strong, at your age.” The hand did not spare the old scars, but this was not what made Valjean tremble. “It’s not so much to ask this one thing of you. Isn’t that true? Tell me, Valjean—you are capable of doing this thing I’ve asked of you, aren’t you?”

Valjean nearly moaned. Instead, he tilted his head, gazing up to where the crucifix still gleamed on the wall. “I am,” he admitted, his voice shaking.

“And yet you failed.” The words were stern, although Javert’s touch was light. “You didn’t do as I asked you to do.”

“No,” Valjean agreed faintly. Even now, he was trembling—not from fear of Javert, but from a certain, high-strung excitement: the awareness of what precipice laid before him, and the fear that, perhaps, at the last moment, Javert would pull him back.

Perhaps, when he had first stumbled into this, it should have alarmed him how readily Javert in turn had played the part that had always been his. But in truth, it was a relief: there was in Javert still some of that lethal sharpness of the blade, and to have Javert’s hand govern his willing body was distressing enough to not render Valjean’s sacrifice meaningless.

“Then hold still.”

Valjean received no other orders or words of warning, but they were not needed. He remained pressed against the wall, naked and exposed to the cool air of the room. A moment passed. Then Javert stepped back to his side, and all of a sudden, pain exploded across his buttocks.

Valjean groaned helplessly, raising his eyes to the cross above as tears of pain welled up in his eyes.

Javert gave him no break. Again he struck, a length of leather biting into Valjean’s skin so that he trembled at its bite.

Javert did not speak. In this, he was precise and merciless, as unmovable as hard steel. There was a fearful ecstasy in it, and even as Valjean sobbed, he kept gazing at the crucifix through his tears. Pain sank its teeth into him, his buttocks aching fiercely as Javert punished him mercilessly with lash following lash, until Valjean had to fight his disobedient body to keep himself upright.

“See how strong you are,” Javert murmured at last, touching an admiring hand to Valjean’s shoulder. “I know you can do better from now on.”

For a moment, Javert paused. Then, his hand still on Valjean’s shoulder, he nudged Valjean’s thighs open with his knee.

“You will do better?”

“Yes,” Valjean said through his tears.

“I know you will.” Javert’s fingers gently stroked along Valjean’s shoulder. Then he drew in a breath, and that was all the warning Valjean received before the belt came down a final time.

Pain exploded through Valjean, so sharp that for a moment, he could not see. A groan of torment escaped his throat when between his legs, his balls turned ablaze with agony. He sobbed, held upright only by Javert’s hand on his shoulder.

For long moments, Javert remained there, listening to him weep as his knee between Valjean’s thighs kept his aching balls exposed and vulnerable.

“Good,” he murmured at last. He pressed a kiss to Valjean’s shoulder while he gently pressed his belt to Valjean’s balls again.

Even that light touch made them pulse with agony. All the same, Javert’s mouth was gentle against his skin, and the pain, though near unbearable, could be borne.

Valjean drew in shallow breaths, lightheaded from the pain that still pulsed through him with as much severity as the earlier, agonized release.

Javert’s hand dropped from his shoulder to his waist. “Can you bear more?” he asked.

Valjean’s heart shuddered in his chest—but through the tears, he smiled, although Javert could not see his expression.

“Yes,” he said simply, triumph over his agonized body’s needs making him blissfully dizzy.

“Good,” Javert murmured once more, the hoarseness of his voice the only warning Valjean received before Javert pressed himself against him, Valjean’s aching body being made to yield as Javert’s hard length slid inside him.

Every time Javert thrust against him, the stripes the belt had left on his buttocks flared up into new, hot pain. When Javert’s balls brushed his own, abused testicles, Valjean could not hold back a sob, his hands clenching against the wall as he fought to stay upright.

Still, he persevered, and when Javert found release inside him at last, his arm tight around his chest and his balls throbbing against his own, Valjean moaned in gratitude. In weary, ecstatic surrender, his head fell back to rest against Javert’s shoulder. His body was thrumming with heat even now—but it was a cleaner heat, a sweeter pain, sanctified by a severe hand that would not let him stray from the path he had set out on, no matter what sacrifices it asked of him.


End file.
